Ballad of the Dragon
by vakarian honour
Summary: From the torchlight, his outline danced across the walls, following her, slowly, penetrating her peripheral vision as though it were made for that purpose. (Rated M/Gratuitous Sex/Coarse Language)


**AN: **This starts off during the Battle of Hogwarts. Thanks to Craft Rose for the prompt.

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><p>Before enemy forces, stood Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, shielded in an invisible field to protect from the Dark Lord's vanguard. Draco was amongst this group, as were Narcissa and Lucius, each entangled in their deepest, darkest fears. Narcissa clutched at her emerald necklace, muttering prayers and wiping the corners of her eyes with haste. Lucius took an opposing approach, and chose instead to relay strategy to his wife and son. <em>Strike first, <em>he cautioned, voice shaking and eyes wild. It was the night of battle and without further notice, the Dark Lord lifted his long, opaque arms, signalling the attack. In a flash, the night sky was alive with thousands upon thousands of sparks, surging through the crisp, chilling atmosphere and penetrating the shield that surrounded the castle with collective force.

Again and again, Lord Voldemort conducted his symphony, hissing with satisfaction from the first fissure, then the second and third and fourth, turning his head to the skies with maddened, lustful pleasure, as the barrier shattered before his snake-like eyes.

Hogwarts had fallen.

Draco swallowed hard, heart hammering against the shells of his ears. His allies erupted in harsh, raucous ovation and forged onward. Some disappeared in thick, black smoke. Some weaved from the startling line to the castle ahead, causing the earth to quake under the weight of their stampede. In all the chaos, he was shoved forward, on his hands and knees, fighting the urge to vomit, struggling to locate his wand amid the damp grass.

Seconds later, it was back in his trembling grasp, from where he squeezed as tight as possible, turning his knuckles white, numbing the fear from his veins, as he made motion to follow his hooded allies. Though, before he could, a cold, slender hand clasped his wrist. He turned to find Narcissa.

"What are you doing?" Draco demanded. "Mother —"

"Find him," she urged, ridden with concern. "You must find him, Draco."

"Let go, mother. If the others see —"

"Listen to me," the woman furthered, searching through his countenance. "Find the boy. Surrender to him. The Order will accept you."

Draco moved one step backward, freeing his wrist, silenced by her treasonous remarks. An uncomfortable weight settled in the depths of his chest, propelling him further and further away from his mother — until her silhouette disappeared into the darkened backdrop. Her disposition wasn't unfamiliar to him. She was unlike Lucius, in that she was unwilling to sacrifice her loved ones to the Dark Lord's uprising.

Namely, her son.

It was his burden to survive the battle. For her, more than anyone. Bearing that weight, he forced his legs into a sprint, through the surrounding grounds and into the thick of battle. Before him, countless students and members of the Order were under fire from Death Eater forces, repelling their sparks of green with an abundance of counter curses and shield charms. Mere minutes had passed, and already the courtyard was littered with bodies. Both young and old. Through the corner of his left eye, he spotted the lifeless body of one Lavender Brown. Judging by the manner in which she lay, with her arms twisted like the duel serpent sigil of House Carrow, he assumed this was the work of either Alecto or Amycus.

With both hands folded over his head, Draco raced through the debris, evading the rubble and crossfire as best he could and skidding through the collapsed front doors — into the castle.

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><p>There were screams and loud, ominous blasts echoing from below. Hermione forced the tension from her muscles and stood vigil over the Room of Requirement, waiting for her best friends. Something important lay beyond the disappearing door. Something Harry needed. Over an hour, and still no sign of him. She froze, wand clattering to the hardwood floor, as another scream sounded from the lower levels. Harsh and followed by an ear-splitting cackle, it had to have been the work of Bellatrix Lestrange.<p>

Hermione shuddered in response, shrouded in flashbacks of the Skirmish at Malfoy Manor. The wound on her left forearm had yet to heal, reading _Mudblood_ and inspiring wave after wave of horror through her as she relived the sharp, twisting trauma of being held under the Cruciatus Curse.

She couldn't take it. She had to do something. She had to help.

Running—_sprinting_—through the corridor as fast as she could, Hermione followed the screams with her wand outstretched and subsequently slammed to the floor, having run face first into a hooded man. With an unceremonious thud, she fell, acutely aware that something cracked beneath her, from the impact.

Not a bone.

Worse.

She winced, ignoring the ache that ran the length of her left side, and instead focused her attention on the object in her hands. Her wand of vine and dragon heartstring core — snapped in two even pieces.

From there, the fear settled in.

Footsteps.

Closer and closer.

Wandless and hurt, she scrambled to her feet and limped down the corridor, as the hooded man neared. His stride was long and slow, punctuated by her short, fast movements and the hammering in her chest. Her body ached, but she couldn't stop. She had to keep moving. From the torchlight, his outline danced across the walls, following her, slowly, penetrating her peripheral vision as though it were made for that purpose.

Now crawling, Hermione slumped against the opposite wall and turned her face to the side, eyes closed. His footsteps came to a halt. She could feel him, his presence. An almost malign feeling sprouted from her core to the depths of her marrow._ Is this death?_ She didn't know. She could only blink and breathe, hoping someone—_anyone_—would find her before it was too late.

"Please," the girl begged, hands shaking. "Please, don't —"

"Not now," he cautioned, lowering his hood only slightly, to reveal thin but firm lips, an aquiline nose and hard, steeled eyes.

She tensed. "Malfoy?"

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> Flattered you've made it this far. I'll do my best to update as frequently as I can. In the meantime, drop a review and let's get this ball rolling.


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